ov oily powr, ma hart a chambir fild wif slo thunder, qwiet & unstressd; a towrin dam triklin powr, tikin ovir, hedwaters ov charjed blud pent & latent.
Wel, YES! This is moar like it! Why did I evir bothir been a hok? Why woz I so bleedin unam
I look about, surveying. Air evrywhare. Clouds. No groun.
Othir birds flyin in vast Vs, climin in hooj colums in thi air, gatherid in ther own dark clouds, wheelin & collin. I think 2wards roosts.
/& am in thi midst ov them; spherikil trees floatin in thi grounles blueniss like brown planets ov twigs in a universe ov air, surrounded by a sqwakin atmosphere ov birds toin & froin.
Thi parlyment ov crows, I think.
/& am thare, in bitter air between layers ov white cloud like mirr'rd landscapes ov snow; thi grate dark winter-trees r massd 2 thi density ov blak clifs agenst thi icy billos ov frozin cloud. Thi crows' parlyment is in thi tollest, gratest biggist tree ov ol, its brown-blak twigs like thi sooty bones ov a millyin hands clutchin @ thi chil blank fayce ov hevin. Thi meetin brakes up when they c me & they cum skrawkin & screetchin out 2 mob me.
I beat, pushin down thi air, risin ovir the pesterin burds, seekin 1 who stays bak, directin.
Thi crows swarm up aroun me. A few land blows on ma hed but it dozen hurt. I laf & stretch ma nek, swivelin ma hed an rippin a few ov ther litl toyish bodies from thi air. I toss them aside; red blud beeds, pulverized white bone pushes thru ther coal blak fevirs & they tumbil torn 2 thi snow-cloud billows. Thi rest screem, pull flutrin bak a momint then mob in agen. I stroke 4wards. Air snaps swirlin undir ma wings, rollin thi pursuin birds roun like bubbles under a waterfol.
I c my prey. Heez a big grey-black fellir perchd on thi topmost twig ov thi topmost branch ov thi parlyment- tree & heez juss reelised whots goan on.
He rises, cawin & shreekin in2 thi air. Foolish; if he'd dived in2 thi branchiz he mite ? had a chance.
He tries sum acrobatic stuf but heez old & stiff & I snatch him so eesily iss almost disapointin.
/& am alone wif ma litl crowy frend abuv a tawny plane ov sand & rok, beatin 2wards a fractchird clif whare a narled fingir ov rok juts out, its summit topt wiv a jiant nest ov sunbleechd timbirs & splintered white animal & burd bones.
I land & fold thi soft clokes ov ma wings & stand upon thi brittle nest — timbers creek, branchiz burst, pikd-cleen bones snap — lookin doun @ ma bolld foot wif thi old gray-blak crow imprisind in it, flappin an beetin an hollerin.
Skreek! Skrawk! Awrk! Gerout!
O shut up, I tel it, an thi rok-crushin weight ov ma voyce stuns it 2 qwiet stilniss. I balince on that leg, compressin thi trapt crow & reechin thru thi bars ov ma talins wif a talin from thi other foot, tiklin thi bird's grey-blak frote while thi breth wheeziz out ov it.
Now then my litl chum, I say — & ma voyce iz acid on a slicin blaid, boilin led doun a opin frote — Ive a few qwestchins Id like 2 ask u.
SIX
1
She stood on the piazza of the landing tower, looking west towards the heights of the structure.
The curtain-walls — easily two kilometres high and punctuated by the tall half-cylinders of the mural towers — curved away to either side, rising and falling over the gentle undulations in the landscape to diminish and disappear into the misted distance. Within the vegetation-strung cliffs of the walls lay a broad rolling landscape of wooded hills, sparkling lakes, manicured parkland and broad fields, all dotted with the spires and towers of small villages and towns.
Beyond, still slightly blued with the distance, the fastness itself reared forever into the sky. She stared, slack-jawed.
Serehfa was a frozen turbulence of architecture beyond the merely monumental: revetments rose like cliffs topped by broad, wooded scarps, stout bastions stood like jutting bluffs, serrated ridges of parapet lay stretched hazily like squared-off mountain ranges themselves, cloud-lined walls ascended sheer or stood pierced by the vast caves of dark windows, whole forested slopes of steep-pitched roofs lay serried green beneath the warmth of the high summer sun, and soaring arches of gables and buttresses climbed to higher and higher levels piled one on top of another, all swathed in whorling patterns of colour and climbing stacked, packed, placed and lifted to where the sparkling whiteness of snow and ice sat in a broad band of collected light thrown dazzlingly against the shining sky.
Everywhere about the panoramic, sight-saturating expanse of the central structure gigantic towers of mountainous diameter forced their way into the atmosphere, piercing the few, drifting, scale-diminished clouds which left their barely moving shadows aslant along the soaring walls and were themselves thrown into shade by still higher reaches of further towers casting their own stone shadows across both the clouds and the monstrous upheaval of the edifice itself; a crescendo of form and colour filling the horizon and culminating in the stark shining column of the central tower, drawing the gaze upward like some anchored moon.
'Well, there it is, in all its glory,' Pieter Velteseri said, joining her at the balustrade. He waved his walking stick at the castle.
Asura looked at him, eyes wide. '
Pieter smiled and took in the view of the fastness. 'Indeed. The single largest artefact on Earth. The capital of the world, I suppose. And the last city, in a sense.'
She frowned. 'There are no more cities?'
'Well, yes, most of them survive, but someone from the Age of Cities would regard them more as large towns in terms of their populations.'
She turned to stare at it again.
'Do you know yet why you had to come here?' Pieter asked her softly.
She shook her head slowly, gaze fixed upon the fastness.
'Well, I dare say you'll remember when you have to.' Pieter took a fob watch from his waistcoat, frowned, closed one eye for a second, then reset the watch. He sighed and looked around the broad piazza, where umbrellas and sun shades flapped over tables and cafe bars. The airship rode at anchor above them in the breeze, nose connected to the landing tower. There were still a few lingering groups of castilians greeting those who had arrived on the craft, but most of the people now were either about to embark or bidding passengers farewell.
'Cousin Ucubulaire reports she is on her way,' Pieter told her. He nodded towards the countryside of the bailey. 'She's under there somewhere, in a slow-running tube train.'
'Tube train,' she repeated.
'My dear, I think you ought to have this.' He fished in one pocket of his dress coat and handed her a small wallet containing a thin card with writing and numbers on it. She studied it. 'It makes you an honorary member of our clan,' Pieter explained. 'Ucubulaire will look after you, but in case you feel you have to move on elsewhere from Serehfa, that ought to make sure you don't have to rely on hostels for a bed or public kitchens for food; can't have you hanging onto the outside of airships or trains, now can we?'
She looked at him, uncomprehending.
